Between Brothers

by Lauren Gallagher

  “You were about to make me come,” I said.

  “Oh fuck yes,” he growled. “Come, baby, come on...”

  “Do it…the way you were before.”

  But a second later, he came.

  ~ * ~

  John’s arm was draped over my waist and his body pressed against mine as he drifted off to sleep. I lay in the darkness, looking at the familiar shapes illuminated by the streetlights outside. His massive bureau. The wardrobe that served as an entertainment center. The closed doors to our cavernous walk-in closets. The familiar silhouettes of the full-length mirror, the framed photos on the wall, and the vase my mother had given us for our wedding.

  Nothing had changed. Everything was exactly as I’d left it six months ago.

  John stirred slightly, then rolled over in his sleep, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my frustration on my side of the bed.

  Indeed, nothing had changed.

  The next morning, we shared breakfast and conversation before saying our goodbyes.

  “It was so good to see you, Marisa,” he said, kissing me gently at the door.

  “It was,” I said with a smile. It wasn’t a lie.

  “I’d like to get together again,” he said. “Talk things over a bit more.”

  “We will.” Again, not a lie.

  He smiled, kissed me again. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” And even that wasn’t a lie. I did love him. I always would.

  But as I pulled out of the parking lot, I flipped open my cell phone and called my boss.

  “Hey, Ali,” I said. “I need to call out today. I’ve got some things I need to take care of.”

  “Everything okay?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

  “All right, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  I stuffed my phone back in my purse, drove downtown, and filed for divorce.

  Thirty Four

  “So it’s really over?” Darren lifted his eyebrows and sipped his drink, watching me in the dim light of the lounge at Ambrose’s.

  I nodded. “I filed this morning.”

  He regarded me quietly for a moment. “So I assume you’re okay with it?”

  “Better than I thought I’d be,” I said. “I mean, it hurts. We were together a long time, and it’s hard to let that go, but I think it’s better this way.” I exhaled, my shoulders loosening as if those words had been bunching up my muscles all day long, demanding to be spoken. “Yeah, I do think it’ll be better this way.”

  Darren nodded. “Good, I’m glad you’re happy. If you weren’t happy with him, then you deserve better.”

  “Hey guys, sorry I’m late.” Eric appeared and dropped into the third chair at the table.

  “You’re always late, jackass,” Darren said.

  Eric scratched the bridge of his nose with his middle finger, almost causing me to choke on my drink.

  “He’s right, Eric, you’re always late,” I said.

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s not my fault my replacement didn’t get here on time.”

  “Only you could be late when you’ve been in the damned building for eight hours before dinner,” Darren said.

  I patted his arm and gave him a condescending smile. “It’s okay, Eric. We understand.” I looked at Darren. “Maybe for his birthday this year, we should get him a digital watch. Maybe the hands on the clock are confusing him.”

  Darren snickered.

  Eric folded his arms across his chest and pretended to pout. “All right, that’s it, no more free top shelf for you two. It’s all well drinks from now on.”

  “Oh please,” I said. “A well drink would be more offensive to you, Liquor Princess, than it would be to us.” He opened his mouth to make a comeback, but abruptly snapped it shut as I ran the toe of my shoe up the inside of his leg. He shot me a glare, then shook his head and laughed. “All right, so what have I missed, being a whole fifteen minutes late?”

  “Marisa’s getting divorced,” Darren said.

  Eric looked at me with an expression that said he wasn’t sure how to react.

  “I thought celebrating with a bottle of champagne would be over the top,” I said with an indifferent shrug. “So, a Margarita will do quite nicely.” I lifted the drink that Eric had made for me earlier and sipped it.

  “Awesome,” Eric said with a nod, now that he’d gauged how I felt about the situation. “If he’s not making you happy,” he raised his glass in a mock toast. “Fuck him.”

  “Or not,” Darren said.

  I laughed. “You know, it’s weird how things worked out. Six months ago, I thought it would just kill me if John actually divorced me. But now…” I shrugged. “Now it just seems…” I trailed off, trying to find the words.

  “Inevitable?” The brothers said in unison.

  My eyes flicked back and forth between them. “I take it you guys knew from the beginning?”

  They both started to speak, but Eric gestured for Darren to go ahead. Darren looked at me. “When he wanted six months without even talking to you, I was pretty sure it was over.”

  “And honestly?” Eric said. “You always seemed miserable when you were with him anyway.”

  “He’s got a point, Marisa,” Darren said, running his finger around the rim of his glass as he looked at me. “It was probably more obvious from the outside looking in, but he treated you like shit.”

  I sipped my drink slowly, letting their words sink in. Now that they said it, they were absolutely right. In John’s presence, I was tense. Always. Sometimes to the point of tears. Everything in our marriage was one-sided, something I hadn’t really come to realize until I saw how one-sided our sex life was. Something I didn’t notice at all until I’d slept with Darren. And, I thought, feeling a little guilty, Darren’s brother. After a moment, I said, “Well, it’s over now. Thank God.” I raised my glass. “To moving on.”

  “To moving on,” they said, raising their glasses. We toasted my divorce and moved on to lighter topics. All the while, I couldn’t help but think about how much had changed since John and I had separated. How much I had changed, specifically. Darren had started out teaching me to take the reins in bed, get what I wanted, and not put up with any less. Yet everything he had taught me, every inch he’d drawn me out of my shell, had permeated the rest of my life. The less crap I took in bed, the less crap I took at work. The less one-sidedness I tolerated in the bedroom, the less I was willing to accept it in my marriage or anywhere else.

  The only thing that unsettled me about this arrangement was this situation with Eric and Darren. As my eyes shifted back and forth between the brothers during our lighthearted conversation, a knot grew in my stomach. Committed relationship or no, I owed it to Darren to be honest with him about Eric. Yet, for all the confidence he’d given me, my insecurities came roaring back when I thought about telling him.

  Soon, I promised myself. I’ll tell him. I just need to talk to Eric first. And think of a way to bring it up. I had to tell him. No excuses. I had to tell him.

  And I would, I vowed. Soon.

  Thirty Five

  I pulled my cream-colored coat off of the hanger and looked in the mirror as I dressed. Then I paused, eyeing my own reflection, looking at the bland ensemble that pretty much resembled what I wore every day.

  Cubicle camouflage, Colette’s words echoed in my head.

  Why was I trying to hide? If anything, I wanted to be noticed by a particular someone. Someone who, I realized, would be in the office that day to discuss a few things.

  I pursed my lips and looked myself in the eye in the mirror. He was completely and totally out of my league, but why should I keep trying to blend in with the office décor? Maybe Max would never notice me, but I had no need to hide from him or anyone else.

  Darren had made me realize I had no need to be embarrassed by my own desires. At that moment, standing in front of the mirror in my cubicle-colored suit, I realized I had no need to be embarrassed by try
ing to look desirable either.

  Stripping out of the suit, I went into my closet to find something else. After twenty minutes of cursing and muttering and self-doubt, I found something suitable.

  The skirt was black and shorter than what I usually wore, clinging to my hips and barely hiding the outline of my garter beneath it. The garter itself was dangerously close to the hem of the skirt, but I liked it.

  The blouse I chose was scarlet red and instead of being buttoned to my throat, it dipped low enough in the front to show just a hint of cleavage. The black coat I wore over it actually gave the illusion that I was wearing even less, with the blouse showing as little more than a bright sliver of red between my skin and the coat.

  The ensemble was still conservative and professional, but it wasn’t going to make me blend into the walls. It wasn’t slutty, but it was bold. I didn’t care if I was the only soul in the world who noticed the difference. I liked it.

  I took one last look in the mirror and headed out the door.

  As I pulled into the parking lot, Max’s car caught my eye. Self-doubt tugged at my confidence, but I forced it back. I wasn’t doing this entirely for him, I was doing it mostly for me. His presence or absence didn’t make much of a difference.

  “This isn’t about him,” I told myself as I put the car in park. “This is about me.”

  As I walked through the glass double doors, I forced myself to keep my head up and my shoulders back. I’d spent the last few years memorizing the cracks and flaws in the linoleum that lined this hallway, and damn it, I didn’t need to look at it anymore.

  I paused at the receptionist’s desk to pick up some messages. As I did, Colette’s voice came from behind me. “Well, look who decided to come out of the woodwork.”

  I looked at her and smiled, hoping I looked more confident than I felt. “Just thought it was time for a change.”

  She nudged me with her elbow and gave me a conspiratorial wink. “And it’s just a coincidence that you decided to go for a change on one of Max’s in-office days?”

  My first reaction was to feel completely mortified, but then I thought, Oh hell, why should I be embarrassed about it? Colette knew and as far as I could tell, there were no Millers within earshot. I grinned and shrugged. “Well, it seemed like a good day to do it.” I winked at her.

  “Tart,” she said, giggling. Then she gave me a more serious look. “All joking aside, you look good. It’s nice to see you step out of that cubicle camouflage.”

  And what I wouldn’t give to let Max see me step out of this outfit, for that matter. But I kept that thought to myself and just said, “Thanks.”

  On my way to my desk, Max came around the corner,

  merrily chewing that damned gum and talking to one of the guys from the production department. He glanced at me, then did a double take and stopped, his jaw frozen in mid-chew. He recovered quickly, though. “Hey, Marisa,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m meeting you at eleven, right?” He resumed chewing his gum.

  “Same time as always,” I said with a smile that hopefully betrayed the fact that my knees were turning to water and my heart was pounding my ears and God damn it Max stop doing that with your fucking mouth unless you’re planning on kissing me with it.

  He kept walking and so did I. I went to my desk, replaying our encounter in my head, and I couldn’t help but grin at that little pause of his. Whether it meant anything or not, I didn’t care. For the first time, Max Gordon noticed I was alive.

  I wondered if it would just be a momentary thing, or if I stood a snowball’s chance in hell of keeping his attention long enough to—

  No, Marisa, don’t even think about it right now. Work to do. Job. Professionalism.

  I tried to clear my mind of all things Gordon as I started working. Within minutes, I was glancing at the clock every five seconds because eleven o’clock just wasn’t happening fast enough.

  Thirty Six

  “Ready for me?” Max said as he came into my cubicle. I glanced up at him. His cheeks colored and his face twisted into a “that didn’t come out right” expression. He cleared his throat and avoided my eyes.

  I’ve been ready for you for a long time, Max. I tried not to smirk. “Did you bring your expense reports this time?”

  He held up the file folder and smiled, holding my gaze a moment longer than usual. He took his usual seat in the chair beside my desk.

  I shuffled through one of the folders and pulled out a Visa statement. “I found a few discrepancies between your last month’s expense reports and the Visa statement. I need to go over some of those.” The weight of his stare caught my attention. I realized he’d been watching me, not looking at the reports like he usually did when we talked.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What?”

  I waved the statement at him. “Visa. Expense report. Discrepancies.” Christ, don’t look at me like that, Max, or we’ll never finish this.

  I laid the report and the statement on the desk, gesturing at the discrepancies that I’d highlighted for him. He craned his neck towards them. As he did, his brow furrowed with concentration, and his cheek and jaw moved as he played with his gum with his tongue.

  “Two words,” Colette said in my mind. “Oral. Fixation.” I swallowed hard.

  “I think I remember what happened with this one,” Max said, gesturing at the Visa statement. “I think it’s here, let me…” He trailed off as he searched through one of his folders. His jaw came forward slightly, shifting to one side, then the other.

  Colette’s voice echoed through my head again. “The man is always doing something with his mouth. Always.”

  His cheek hollowed and I guessed he was rolling the gum around on his tongue. Lucky gum.

  I let out a breath and turned to reach for my coffee cup, hoping the three seconds it took for me to take a sip would be long enough for the color to drain out of my face, because I must have been scarlet red by that point.

  “Here it is,” he said. I turned back, but avoided his eyes, trying my damndest to stay professional.

  The office was mostly deserted around lunchtime, but Max and I stayed to finish our meeting. Everything we needed to cover was long since finished, but I kept finding reasons to keep it going. As he suggested going over his travel expense report just one more time, I got the distinct impression he was doing the same thing.

  I could barely concentrate. Smoke. Cologne. Mint. God, I wanted to taste him.

  I tried to focus on the report, but from the corner of my eye, I caught him casting a surreptitious glance at my blouse. Or rather, the hint of cleavage I’d deliberately left visible. Was it my imagination? Was he really checking me out?

  Shifting my weight in my chair, I leaned forward a little, making sure my blouse fell away just enough to let him see a bit more.

  A subtle catch of his breath.

  Busted.

  He looked up and caught me watching him. His cheeks colored. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat and looked at the report. “Where were we?”

  “What kind of cologne is that?” I asked, keeping my voice down just in case any prying ears lingered nearby.

  He blinked. “What?” I loved the startled expression on his face.

  “The cologne you’re wearing,” I said. “What is it?”

  He smiled and looked me in the eye. “Do you like it?”

  I smiled back and didn’t back down from his intense stare. “I do.”

  He leaned closer, not close enough to touch, but enough to encroach on my space. “It’s Hugo Boss.” His eyes left mine and this time he made no effort to hide the fact that he was looking at my cleavage. He tongued his gum behind his lips. Show me what else you can do with that tongue, Max.

  I leaned back in my chair and looked at him, folding my hands on top of my crossed thighs. He met my eyes, an odd mix of arrogance and uncertainty in his expression. Did I dare? Darren’s words echoed in my consciousness: You have to learn to be a bit shameless. Don't
be embarrassed of your own desires.

  I was a heartbeat away from opening my mouth to speak when Max beat me to it: “Listen, do you want to go out for drinks sometime?” Was that uncertainty in his voice? Nervousness?

  I smiled. “Name the time and place.”

  His lips parted again. Had he really expected me to turn him down? So much for being out of my league, Mr. Gordon. I let myself feel just a little bit smug for a moment, but then he startled me by touching my knee. I jumped and he grinned. “Is this okay?” he asked, nodding towards his hand with an expression that told me he knew damn good and well I wasn’t going to protest.

  “It’s fine,” I said, not sounding nearly as confident as I wanted to. He chuckled, and I swore he was gloating. I was simultaneously annoyed that he’d once again gained the upper hand—so to speak—and aroused at the warmth of his fingers through my whisper-thin nylons.

  “How about…” He paused. “What are you doing tonight?”

  Be a bit shameless. “I guess that’s up to you, isn’t it?”

  He lifted an eyebrow and swallowed hard. And Marisa gains control once again. I heard Darren’s mock-announcer voice in my head and forced myself not to laugh. Max smiled. “I’d offer to pick you up, but I doubt there would be much in the way of drinks if I met you at your place.” He smirked as he chewed his gum.

  My cheeks burned at the brazenness of his riposte, but I wasn’t about to be outdone. “So maybe going out for drinks would be a waste of time.”

  His teeth clicked together. His thumb dipped under the hem of my skirt, but I managed to resist giving him any kind of response. Watching my eyes for a second, he slid his hand under my skirt, up my thigh. The smirk on his face spread as he watched me, waiting for a response.

  Then his fingertips found the garter.

  His breath caught and his eyes darted to my thigh. Fingering the strap, he looked up at me, his eyes wide and lips apart.

  I grinned, narrowing my eyes. “What time are you picking me up, Max?”

  Game. Set. Match.